Those simple words of Denys, one stroke of a careless tongue, painted “home” in Gerard's heart. “Oh, how sweet!” said he.
“Mercy! what is this? A gibbet! and ugh, two skeletons thereon! Oh, Denys, what a sorry sight to woo by!”
“Nay,” said Denys, “a comfortable sight; for every rogue i' the air there is one the less a-foot.”
A little farther on they came to two pillars, and between these was a huge wheel closely studded with iron prongs; and entangled in these were bones and fragments of cloth miserably dispersed over the wheel.
Gerard hid his face in his hands. “Oh, to think those patches and bones are all that is left of a man! of one who was what we are now.”
“Excusez! a thing that went on two legs and stole; are we no more than that?”
“How know ye he stole? Have true men never suffered death and torture too?”
“None of my kith ever found their way to the gibbet, I know.”
“The better their luck. Prithee, how died the saints?”
“Hard. But not in Burgundy.”